
EACE POEMS 



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WAR RHYMES AND PEACE POEMS 




WAR RHYMES 

AND 

PEAGE POEMS 



BY 



FRANK ADAMS MITCHELL 




THE 

RALPH FLETCHER SEYMOUR 

COMPANY CHICAGO 




COPYRIGHT. 1914, BY FRANK ADAMS MITCHELL 






DEC -8 ibi4 

)CI,A391103 



To My Wife 



Dear lady, tapping at your door 

Some little verses stand; 
And beg on this auspicious day. 

To come and kiss your hand. 

Robert Louis Stevenson. 



CONTENTS 



Page 

Imprimis ' 

THE SONG OF THE BUILDERS 11 

CHICAGO 12 

THE RED RULER 13 

WHEN WORK IS DONE 14 

ASSOCIATION 15 

MY SON 16 

THE OTHER DAY 17 

THE SACRIFICE 18 

THE SONG OF THE SOLDIER 19 

UNREADY 20 

CHEER UP ; 21 

GOLD 22 

THE MANTLE OF THE SLAIN 22 

COMPANIONSHIP 23 

MY BIRTHDAY 24 

TOMORROW 25 

THE MORNING STAR 25 

THE NEW MONARCH 26 

BEDTIME 27 

GOODNIGHT 28 

UNSPOILED 29 

AUTUMN 31 

THE CALL OF THE NORTH 32 

YOUR OPPORTUNITY 33 

THE RIVER OF DOUBT 34 

A RETROSPECT 35 

THE MONARCH 36 

THE CURSE OF THE COMMUTER Z7 

SHADOWS 38 



CONTENTS — Continued 

Page 

THE MAELSTROM 39 

MARCH 40 

THE COURAGE OF DISCONTENT 41 

MEMORIAL DAY 42 

vacation's VEXATIONS 43 

THE SPIRIT OF CHRISTMAS CHEER 44 

THANKSGIVING 45 

THE PESSIMIST 46 

THE OPTIMIST 47 

THE SAME OLD STORY 48 

AUNT LUCRETIA 49 

WHEN DAY IS DONE 51 

A NEW year's PRAYER 52 

PIGEONHOLED 53 



o 



IMPRIMIS 

UR first performance. As we make our bow 
Our knees together knock, and on our brow 
Cold siveat comes forth and courses down the cheek, 
And naught is heard zvlien zve attempt to speak. 

Our hands unwieldy seem, and, in disgrace. 

Each seeks a pocket for a hiding place; 

And memory, which has never failed before, 

Retires within and double locks the door. 

In shamed disorder 2ve tvould fain retreat. 

But tons of lead seem welded to our feet. 



WAR RHYMES AND PEACE POEMS 





WAR RHYMES 

AND 
PEACE POEMS 

THE SONG OF THE BUILDERS 



A 



S the first faint flush of the morning glow, 
Falls full on a sleeping world, 
While the curtain of night is lifted slow. 
And the banner of stars is furled ; 
The morning march of the builder band, 
Begins as the sun waves its silver wand. 
Sturdy and strong, they march along 
To the step of the Builder's morning song. 

We shoulder our tools and march away, 

And fill our lungs with the fresh, new day ; 

To the hammer's ring 

Our song we sing. 

For the joy of work is a glorious thing. 

So merrily ho ! 

For every blow 

Of the Builder's arm makes the city grow. 



11 



WAR RHYMES 

CHICAGO 



S 



TURDY her growth, and true her aim, 
Strong her structure, great her name ; 
Firm her foundation, wide her fame, 
Chicago. 



Born of the fearless pioneer, 
Braving the western forests drear; 
Little he knew he builded here, 
Chicago. 

Backward I look, and see, forsooth. 
Strong hearted maid, brave hearted youth ; 
Who honors them, tho' dressed uncouth ? 
Chicago. 

Clearing the forest, side by side. 
Here they labored, here they died; 
Built on the ground they sanctified, 
Chicago. 

Theirs the glory, bought with pain. 
Theirs the hardship, ours the gain ; 
Hail ! Fair city of the plain ! 
Chicago. 



12 



AND PEACE POEMS 
THE RED RULER 

I am the unvanquished king, and the proof of my prowess is 
the history of mankind, even from the beginning. 

My yoke is the yoke of hardship. My guerdon is the power 
of pride. My victory is the victory of the vultures. 

I defy humanity, progress, law, religion and love ; yet my hand 
holds the hearts of men in a grip invincible. 

The motherhood of man is made as nothing, for the best be- 
loved are my surest prey. The lust for daring deeds and 
glowing visions of glory are the food I feed them from the day 
of their birth. They answer my call with shouting and singing. 
Their ears are deaf to the moans of mother love, and their hearts 
are filled with the venom of hate. 

A nation is born, it groweth up and its strength multiplies. 
Its granaries overflow with the fruits of the field, its treasuries 
groan with riches ; but to what avail ? In a single night all is 
laid low when I command, and the Demon of Desolation dwells 
in the House of Happiness. 

I am the Preventer of Progress, the Curse of Contentment, 
the Nemesis of the Nations. 

My age is a million million years, yet is my strength undimin- 
ished, and my heart undismayed. My cohorts control the sea, 
the earth and the air, and my watchword is Death. 

I am the trilogy of Hatred, Destruction and Chaos. My name 
is a curse, the first letter whereof meaneth Woe, the second 
Anguish, and the last Ruin — for it is WAR. 



13 



WAR RHYMES 

WHEN WORK IS DONE 



T 



HE house of my dreams, where the elms stand tall 
And spread broad branches over all, 
Where the sunlight glinting through the leaves, 
Fantastic patterns softly weaves 

On the gabled roof and porches too, 

Warming the heart of the morning dew; 

It bears along on its cheerful beams 

Content and peace to the house of my dreams. 

II 

The house of my dreams, set back afar 
From the rumbling roadway's din and jar ; 
Approached by a path, elm arched and wide. 
With hedges of roses on either side. 
To right and left the singing breeze 
Soothingly rustles among the trees ; 
Through restful aisles, beyond there gleams 
Calm in its beauty — the house of my dreams. 

Ill 

The house of my dreams, when my work is done 

And my face is turned to the setting sun, 

The evening years will see me then 

In this rich retreat from the rush of men; 

I'll end my days in the sweet embrace 

Of God and nature — a fitting place. 

Sometimes, I can scarcely wait, it seems. 

For the peace and rest of the house of my dreams. 



14 



T 



AND PEACE POEMS 
ASSOCIATION 

HE inspiration got by joining hands, 

And rubbing elbows with your fellowmen, 
The recompense of those fraternal bands, 

Which, once well forged, no strength can part again ; 
To meet upon one common plane, 

To gauge with mutual point of view, 
To see the sunshine through the rain. 

And judge together false from true. 

The intermingling of the great and small. 

Of men of brain, in great and less degree ; 
Such intercourse, the commoner of all, — 

My best I give to you, and you to me. 
This, then, I take it, in the main. 

Is what association brings ; 
It joins the mountain to the plain, 

Unites the great with lesser things. 



15 



WAR RHYMES 

MY SON 

MY Son ! Two little words, and yet to me 
The meaning of the things that are to be ; 
The broad'ning vista of a larger life, 
The hope in trouble, and the joy in strife; 
Lives intermingled, and two souls made one 
In you, my son. 

Sleep peacefully, the birds sing but for thee. 
Soft sighs the wind thru many a swaying tree; 
The world is good, and joy is at the flood. 
The glorious love of life is in the blood, 
And all the struggles now are easy won. 
For you, my son. 

In after years, when Time's sure-footed tread. 
Has stamped the marks of age upon the head ; 
Youth's golden days will course before my view. 
Like marching soldiers passing in review ; 
I'll live my life, and see the deeds I've done. 
Again in you, my son. 



16 



AND PEACE POEMS 
THE OTHER DAY 



9 /— |— yWAS but the other day 

I I looked within the cradle where he lay, 

I A little helpless being, gazing out 
M With wond'ring eyes, that followed me about ; 
So sweet, through very helplessness, was he. 
That tears welled up in happy ecstasy. 
To think that he was mine, was mine for aye, 
So in my heart I thought — the other day. 

II 

'Twas but the other day 

I watched him scampering in childish play, 

A boy in every action, all in all 

As I would have him, straight, and strong, and tall ; 

What future dreams I had, when watching so. 

None but a Mother's heart can ever know ; 

And happily I joined him in his play. 

And we together romped — the other day. 

Ill 

'Twas but the other day 

I sent him forth — a man — to fight his way 

Alone. And in the years 'twixt then and now, 

Success has placed her garland on his brow ; 

And he as always, sweet, and strong, and good. 

Fulfilled desire of happy Motherhood. 

I draw him close, and kiss the years away. 

And see him as he was — the other day. 



17 



WAR RHYMES 

THE SACRIFICE 



T 



HE bloody sacrifice of wanton war 

Calls forth the cry that violence shall cease ; 
The toll of dead and wounded we abhor. 
And yet ignore the sacrifice of Peace. 



II 



Mark well the fallen, where the curling flame 
Beat back escape, and choked the anguished cry ; 

Bring Truth to search the records, fix the blame 
On those who left these helpless hordes to die. 



Ill 



In every city stands the charred shell 
Of some great structure, lawfully secure 

And branded safe — yet in this blazing Hell, 

Brave men and women answered Death's red lure. 



IV 



How reads the law ? Do not the statutes say 

That thus and thus you shall and shall not do? 
Wherefore these laws, if their evasion may 
Be giv'n or bartered to the favored few? 



If laws be lax, repeal and make anew, 

If good, enforce, and let the slaughter cease; 

Awakened conscience calls for us to do 
Our duty — halt the sacrifice of Peace. 



18 



AND PEACE POEMS 

THE SONG OF THE SOLDIER 



w 



HERE Tommy Atkins battles 

In the trenches on the Aisne ; 
Through weary hours of waiting, 
Through the dead'ning leaden rain; 
He cheers the hours with singing, 
As he lies there crouching low, 
"It's a long, long way to Tipperary, 
It's a long, way to go". 

II 

Throughout the autumn evening. 

Through nights of chilling dew ; 
Through dragging hours he's dreaming 

Of a sweetheart waiting true ; 
He joins the rolling chorus. 

With hoping heart aglow, 
"It's a long, long way to Tipperary, 

To the sweetest girl I know". 

Ill 

He knows the hidden meaning 

Of sadness underneath. 
He knows the cheerful singing 

But means a future grief ; 
But he joins it ever smiling. 

And catches up the air, 
"It's a long, long way to Tipperary, 

But my heart's still there". 



19 



WAR RHYMES 

UNREADY 



W 



E boast of our flaunted riches, 
Our wealth of grain and gold; 
And we glory and gloat with exultant throat 
Over deeds of prowess told. 
In our strength we rest triumphant, 

Content in our power and pride ; 
While on every sea, in quiet glee, 

We point where our dreadnaughts ride. 

II 

With all our wealth and prowess, 

With our millions of brawn and brain, 
There is every cause to bid us pause. 

And wonder if all's in vain. 
For the warcloud finds us sleeping. 

For conflict unprepared ; 
And we face the day when the crisis may 

Unreadiness find ensnared. 



20 



AND PEACE POEMS 
CHEER UP 



WHAT'S the use of being blue, 
No one's got it in for you, 
Why, darn it man! you're lucky just to be alive 
and well. 
Of course you have your worries. 
But they're only little flurries. 

Just square your jaw and grit your teeth, forget 'em for a spell. 

II 

The world has trouble in it. 
You can find it any minute 

If you're looking, but the other fellow has it just the same; 
So just look your carcass over. 
Why, old scout, your right in clover 

If you're present and accounted for and 'aint blind, halt or lame. 

Ill 

So take this here prescription, 
Never mind my faulty diction, 

And keep your features smiling, don't forget that you're a man ; 
For the world will treat you fairly, 
If you'll only meet it squarely. 

Take a brace, cheer up your face, and be a courage fan. 



21 



WAR RHYMES 

GOLD 



¥ 



HO loves me for myself alone 
I deem unworthy, and with scorn 
I make my slave — to do my will 
And grovel at my feet. 



But he who loves me for the good 
That I can bring, and for the joy 
Of sharing me with others, him 
I serve, a willing subject. 



THE MANTLE OF THE SLAIN 



THE march of moaning multitudes beats dreary on the 
ears, 
The heads droop low, and feet drag slow to the music 
of falling tears ; 
No hope of victory's guerdon gleams bright before their eyes, 
And their only spoil is ceaseless toil and endless sacrifice. 

II 

Their's is the unshared burden of labor and strife and pain. 
On shoulders bent, falls the mantle rent — the mantle of the slain; 
Yet forward through years unending the weary way is trod, 
Till the tired feet, hear the last retreat, of the trumpeter of God. 



22 



s 



AND PEACE POEMS 

COMPANIONSHIP 

UPPOSE upon some distant island cast 
Alone, nor man nor beast were there ; 
Suppose the isle in beauty far surpassed 
Visions of grandeur anywhere, 
Rare fruits to feed upon, cool, sparkling springs, 
Your wants supplied of all material things, 
And you could live without a thought or care, 
Would you be happy there? 

Suppose another came to share your fate, 
A stranger, never seen till then, 
Or one whom you had known, and learned to hate 
Before you left the haunts of men. 
Would you then stand aloof in proud disdain 
And would his coming fill your soul with pain? 
Or would you haste to greet him with delight. 
And feel the world set right ? 



23 



WAR RHYMES 

MY BIRTHDAY 



M 



Y birthday ! With the coming of this day 
Half my allotted time has gone its way; 
In retrospect, I see the years of youth, 
When, standing open-eyed, alert, uncouth, 
I saw the vision of the years outspread 
As on the pages of a book, unread 
But plain, and simply worded, and in glee 
I grasped the Book of Life awaiting me. 

II 

My birthday ! Worn and torn the printed page, 
Reread with joy, with sorrow and with rage; 
Misunderstood, for in my youth I thought 
That life unfolded simply as it ought. 
But now, with life's full circle half complete, 
I know success is sometimes half defeat; 
That sorrow, disappointment, pain and strife 
Must temper joy — the seasoning of life. 

Ill 

My birthday ! Strike the ledger balance, pray. 
Inspect the assets as they stand today. 
Note friendship, love and character, and see 
What record has the ledger there for me? 
If they show gain, I know the future will 
The vision of my hopeful youth fulfill, 
And that the years imfolding as the spring 
Will bud and blossom, then fruition bring. 



24 



w 



AND PEACE POEMS 

TO-MORROW 

E live to-day but for to-morrow's sun, 
The present means to us but future joy ; 
The golden Now is more than half alloy, 
With future dreams of work to-day begun. 



To-morrow's laurels rest upon our brow. 
And spur us ever onward to our best ; 
Hope is the mainspring in the human breast. 
Constructive is the work we're doing now. 

The child's great thought is ever what to be, 
The studious youth works for a future goal ; 
Full vigored man sees but the finished whole, 
And drooping age looks 'yond the azure sea. 



THE MORNING STAR 

TI-IE cold, calm stillness of a winter morn 
Greets me, as toward the eastern hill I gaze ; 
Below, the wind-swayed trees stand out forlorn. 
Clean limbed, and coated with a silver maze. 
Above, in awesome contrast to the scene 
The cloudless sky looms broad, and clear, and bright, 
' And one lone star, all brilliant and serene, 
Stands sentry to the passing of the night. 



25 



WAR RHYMES 

THE NEW MONARCH 



S 



OFT in the hands of the master. 
Plastic to those who know 
To shape and mold, to keep and hold 
The beauties I bestow. 



Wealth to men of mettle, 
Strength to the nation great ; 
When used aright, my power of might 
Is sure as the hand of fate. 

The face of the deed quiescent, 
Caught in my soft embrace; 
In likeness cast, will ever last 
While the aeons roll apace. 

Mine is the strength of the ages, 
My life with the future blent; 
For Earth to gain, I hold my reign, 
I am the king— CEMENT. 



26 



I 



AND PEACE POEMS 

BEDTIME 

T'S bedtime. Put the blocks away, 
Wrap up Bunny in his nest, 
Come to Mother now, and say 
'Night to Father and the rest. 



A httle song, a httle prayer 

With loving thoughts we leave you there, — 

It's bedtime, son, goodnight. 

It's bedtime. All the lessons won, 
Scott and Cooper put away, 
Though reluctantly, 'tis done 
They will wait another day. 
Go and dream the dream of youth, 
Sleep the sleep of hope and truth, — 
It's bedtime, son, goodnight. 

It's bedtime. Here beside me kneel. 

Lay your head down close to mine ; 

Let me shut my eyes and feel 

Once again the touch divine, 

A little sigh, a little prayer, 

I must leave you kneeling there, — 

It's bedtime, son, goodnight. 



WAR RHYMES 

GOODNIGHT 



G 



OODNIGHT, my son, let mother's goodnight kiss, 
Which lovingly to sleepy eyelids pressed, 
Bring fairy dreams. Oh, could you know the bliss, 
The joy of having — loving — unexpressed 
In words you understand. Could you but know 
The dreadful thought, when, waking with a start, 
I hear your cry, and stealing softly go 
To watch beside your little bed, sweetheart. 

Goodnight, my son, may angel voices sing 

A lullaby, while mother softly prays 

With moistened eyes, to guard you from each thing 

That might befall, and keep you safe always. 

A few nights more of these farewells, my sweet. 

So few, I count and prize them every one, 

And leave you ever with reluctant feet ; 

So once again, goodnight — goodnight, my son. 



28 



AND PEACE POEMS 

UNSPOILED 

I 

1AST fall I started George down East to College, and 
y'know 
I felt forlorn and heavy when I come t' see him go, 
^ But the boy was sot upon it, and I 'lowed I'd let him 
start, 
For he's all-fired ambitious, and he's everlastin' smart. 
The winter months seem long enough, for John is married now. 
And Johnnie's wife and I don't seem t' hitch up anyhow ; 
But every week I heard from George, and read his letters o'er 
Each evenin' after supper a dozen times or more. 

II 

He told me of the football games, and how he'd joined a frat. 

And how he'd put a dozen husky fellows to the mat. 

Waal, 'twan't surprisin', for my George was raised behind the 

plow, 
And stands six two, and weighs at least two hundred anyhow. 
Then 'long in March he wrote that he had won a big debate. 
And got a scholarship t' boot, and then went on t' state, 
He reckoned that it would surprise his dad — not much, I knew 
Thet George would get th' best they was, and gather honors too. 

Ill 

In June I hitched the bay mare up, and drove down to the train. 

The day was bright and clear t' me, although it looked like rain. 

But George was comin' home that day, and all the summer through 

We'd work along together, just as we used to do. 

But gosh, I hardly knew the boy, fer he was all togged out 

Just like those fancy city dudes the paper tells about. 

I couldn't help but wonder as back home we jogged along. 

About sending him to college, if I done right or wrong. 

IV 

It worried me all evenin' and I watched him close t' see 
If he was any dififerent from what he used to be. 

29 



WAR RHYMES 

He acted mighty glad to be about the place again. 

And asked a question 'bout the corn or cattle now and then. 

Next morning just as usual, I got up at half past four, 

Went out t' do the milkin' of my twenty cows or more, 

And there was George ahead of me, in his same old workin' 

clothes. 
And oh 1 the joy it gave t' me, a father only knows. 



That day we worked together, just as we'd always done, 

George said it wasn't work for him, he called it only fun. 

But as for me, my heart was full, my throat was choked with 

pride. 
And I gloried in the manly son that labored by my side. 
That evenin' when the chores were done, I set out in my chair 
Upon the porch, and gazed across the hillside over there 
Where She is waitin', and I prayed that she might feel the joy, 
And share with me the love and pride of havin' such a boy. 



30 



E 



AND PEACE POEMS 

AUTUMN 

ACH day the evening shadows earlier fall, 
The leaves, death stricken, fill the chilling air ; 
Gray streaked, the sky lies dark'ning over all, 
And wind swayed trees sigh sullen everywhere. 



The death throes of the Summer's gay array 
Of life, full flooded with its joyous song, — 
No more the birds sing forth their roundelay, 
No more the south wind cheers the night along. 

But hold ! Why weep and mourn departed joys, 
Why sigh for Summer glories now no more ; 
Death is but sleep in God's eternal poise. 
Another summer waits when night is o'er. 



31 



WAR RHYMES 

THE CALL OF THE NORTH 

UP in the North Woods the shadows are playing, 
Light winged sun beams float airily through 
The thick matted branches where cool winds are sway- 
ing. 
And weaving a velvety cushion for you. 
Swaying and saying, 

Come to the Northland, we're waiting for you. 

Up in the North Woods, the river is singing. 

Breaking the silence with music divine. 
Softly the wind of the Northland is bringing 

A message of welcome from river and pine. 
Singing and bringing 

Welcoming whispers from river and pine. 

Then off to the Northwoods, where life's worth the living, 

Leaving behind every worry and care. 
Stretch your tired length where the wild wood is giving 

Peace laden balm to the sweet scented air. 
Life's worth the living 

With forest and river and peace everywhere. 



32 



AND PEACE POEMS 
YOUR OPPORTUNITY 

IF life were one glad roundelay 
Of song, and feast, and laughter gay; 
Could we in Lethe daily dip, 
Ambrosia eat, and nectar sip ; 
If every wish anticipate. 
And dreams of wealth could satiate ; 
If every thought and act and deed 
Were independent of our need, 

Would life be quite worth while? 

Just ask yourself these questions when 
You feel the most harassed of men ; 
When plans and aspirations fail 
And effort seems of no avail. 
To equalize the mental plane. 
Take one part sun and one of rain ; 
When business cares and troubles tax, 
Try our prescription, man — relax, 

And you'll make life worth while. 



33 



WAR RHYMES 

THE RIVER OF DOUBT 



THERE'S a curious river we're hearing about — 
It's the rip-roaring, riotous River of Doubt; 



T 

_P It runs through a region whose people benighted, 

On being discovered, exclaimed, "We're de-light-ed." 



The one who discovered these beings was fully 

As charmed as he grinned, and then shouted out "Bully !" 

The river is muddy, and murky, and dank. 
And the octopus revels and roams on the bank ; 

The muck-raking soil on each side of the same. 
An ominous import imparts to the name. 

It's the ultimate Hades abhorred by the pious — 
On the shore was the home of the late Ananias. 

To tell why this mystical river was found 
T. R. may enlighten ; I can't, I'll be bound ; 

But it started an argument loved by that sage 
And landed T. R. back upon the front page. 



34 



AND PEACE POEMS 
A RETROSPECT 

STRUNG on a thread of gold 
The jeweled years ; 
Sweet memory cluster they 
Of hopes and fears; 
Some dance like sparkling wine, 
Some calm and sombre shine, 
Some glow with light divine, 
Mixed smiles and tears. 

Each twelvemonth, this one day 

I set apart, 

To count my jewels o'er 

With chastened heart; 

Clear shines youth's jasper ray, 

Dear dreams of yesterday — 

Sweet scent, like flowers o' May 

To me impart. 

Some, with their radiance vie 

The stars o'erhead. 

Tenderly I linger o'er 

Those years long sped ; 

One brings back wedding music sweet. 

And one, soft patt'ring baby feet — 

How fast the hastening years retreat 

With silent tread. 

But ere I put my jewels by 

One duty more. 

To add another to the thread 

Of golden ore. 

Perchance before this year is past, 

The strands may separate at last. 

The broken ends be gathered fast 

Once more. 

35 



WAR RHYMES 

THE MONARCH 



A 



ROUND the house from break of day, 
He runs and chatters ceaselessly; 
While on the floor about him lay 
The wrecks of prose and poesy. 
For odes and essays are to him 
But prey — he tears them limb from limb. 

From bureau drawers and bookcase too, 
He pilfers all most ruthlessly; 
Nor does he all this wreckage rue, 
But laughs and smiles on fearlessly ; 
For we are but his serfs, and he 
The ruler of this Monarchy. 

But when the day is done, and he 
In Mother's loving arms caressing; 
We would not for the world be free 
From all his many cares distressing. 
We kiss him with regret goodnight. 
And hail each day with new delight. 



36 



A 



AND PEACE POEMS 

THE CURSE OF THE COMMUTER 

THOUSAND curses on this getting up, 

Oh, would that I were thee, most happy pup ; 
And, waking, could but stretch my legs and yawn, 
Then at my leisure rise at peep o' dawn. 

But I, oh cruel fate, ere I arise, 
I first must struggle hard to ope my eyes ; 
Meanwhile dull stupor chains me to the bed, 
I know not if I'm more alive than dead. 

And when once in a sitting posture got, 
I stayed entranced, as tho' nailed to the spot ; 
Oh, could my clothes but climb upon my back, 
Or if convention would permit their lack. 

Once clothed, and really quite awake by then, 
I wonder if I'll catch the seven ten ; 
And with a jump I gulp my breakfast down, 
And haste away to business in the town. 

Oh fortunate, oh doubly happy they. 
Whose wealth permits them late to hit the hay ; 
And wake when fancy pleases, and get up 
At leisure, e'en as thou, oh lucky pup. 



37 



WAR RHYMES 

SHADOWS 



LOW burns the grate. The coals red glow 
Fantastic dancing shadows throw 
. Around the room, and on the wall, 
tt Where castles rear their turrets tall ; 
While on the ceiling gnome and sprite, 
Reflect the embers amber light, 
And dance and caper full of glee. 
So fast that one can scarcely see. 

Two heads against the chairback lay, 
And watch the dancing shadows play ; 
One glistens with the firelight's gleam, 
Like morning sunlight on a stream ; 
While one reflects in gray contrast. 
The smould'ring embers of the past. 
And round and round the shadows gay 
Dance silently their roundelay. 

Now nods the golden head, and now 
The gray begins to droop and bow ; 
'Till each against the other pressed. 
With gentle sleep the two caressed. 
Low burns the grate, and one by one 
The shadows cease their merry fun, 
And slowly glide away, until 
The shadow room is calm and still. 



38 



AND PEACE POEMS 
THE MAELSTROM 



"T^ CROSS the broad Atlantic, everybody's going frantic, 
/\ And are shooting up each other in a mediaeval scrap ; 
I \ English, Belgian, French and Russian vs. Austrian, 
-*' ^ Turkish, Prussian, 

Are changing the complexion of the European map. 

II 

Like other kinds of trouble, it has piled upon them double; 
The fighting fever's got 'em and they've lost the antidote ; 
All the tales of Caesar's glory seem a gentle "Pansy" story. 
When you read about the battles where the bloody war clouds 
float. 

Ill 

The English are forgetting all the gory sufYragetting, 
The Ulsterites are drilling while they shout, "God save the King!" 
While the Czar's last proclamation is the solemn declaration 
That the Hebrews are his children and he'll give them anything. 

IV 

And as for William Kaiser, he's a daily early riser, 
And spends each day explaining with his fingers tightly crossed, 
How his gentle, kindly feelings were repaid by double dealings, 
And he's fighting simply to redeem the self-respect he lost. 



The papers tell us daily sick'ning stories of the melee, 
Till we think his grace Satanic must be on the job again ; 
Mobilized his loyal legion in the Franco-German region. 
And established his headquarters somewhere near Alsace-Lor- 
raine. 

39 



WAR RHYMES 



VI 



No one knows just how it started, but the millions, broken- 
hearted, 

Will recall this year of horror, and regrets will be in vain; 

For when all the clouds have lifted, and the reasons why are 
sifted. 

Thirst for Power, and Greed, and Glory, as the answer will 
remain. 



MARCH 

SUNNY, cloudy, torrents of rain. 
Snow and colder, then clear again ; 
Thunder, lightning, storms galore. 
And ten below when the storm is o'er. 
A promise of Spring in the flush of dawn, 
A hint of green upon the lawn ; 
You venture forth in peaceful mind, 
And leave your overcoat behind; 
Or perhaps at prudence rashly scofif. 
You resolve that day to take 'em off. 
At night, alas, as you homeward drip. 
With chills and fever, you've got the grip. 
Sunshine, bHzzard, a shower or two, 
A starlit night with a touch of dew ; 
Sunny, cloudy, torrents of rain, 
Snow and colder, then clear again ; 
Dastard deceiver, a demon arch. 
All kinds of weather each day — that's March. 



40 



AND PEACE POEMS 
THE COURAGE OF DISCONTENT 



T 



HERE the workers throng in the market place, 
And battle for bread in the upward race 
To gain the goal of ambition's fire, 
And reach the hope of the heart's desire ; 

Few of the many upon the road 

Shoulder defeat and bear the load, 

They are the workers whose life is blent 

With the virile courage of discontent. 



In every office you'll find him there, 

The man with the thin and turning hair; 

Faithful and loyal in thought and act, 

In every phase of his work exact; 

But satisfied, content, secure 

In the happy thought of position sure, 

Plodding along till old and bent 

Through lack of the courage of discontent. 



Ill 

Hope is the spur that goads to speed. 
And quickens the pace in time of need ; 
Work is the weapon that kills defeat. 
When tempered true in ambition's heat ; 
But the man content and afraid to dare 
Is drowsily drifting unaware ; 
To him is this message of warning sent. 
He needs the courage of discontent. 



41 



WAR RHYMES 

MEMORIAL DAY 




HERE is a chord in every human heart 

Keyed to the note of love for deeds of might ; 
And acts of valor make it vibrant start, 
In rich crescendo growing with delight. 



The pomp and glory of a gay parade 

Of marching men, in perfect measured tread, 

With rapture thrills, forgetting this charade 
Is but the symbol of grim warfare dread. 

But yesterday we saw the martial host 
Pass in review in gilt and glamor brave ; 

Honoring those who, loving country most, 

Hallowed her ground in many an unmarked grave. 

We heard the cheers of voices lifted high. 
In greeting to the gallant men in blue ; 

While infantry and cavalry marched by. 
The volume of the cheering thousands grew. 

But suddenly the street is hushed and still. 
The martial pomp has journeyed on its way; 

And heads are bared, and eyes with moisture fill, 
While pass the heroes of Memorial Day. 

With halting step, yet proudly they defile. 

Those few of many hundred thousands strong; 

Who heard the call, and answered with a smile. 
Who hurried forth to battle with a song. 

All honor to those brave of sixty-tliree, 

Each year the serried ranks are thinning fast ; 

Soon will they hear the final reveille, 

And wake to join their comrades of the past. 

42 



AND PEACE POEMS 
VACATION'S VEXATIONS 



FIRST you get a bunch of folders, and peruse them all 
with care, 
Then you check fifteen or twenty, and look up the 
railroad fare; 
Alter which you write a letter to the names that sound the best. 
Such as Clover Lodge, Pine Forest, Muskie Inn or Swallow's 

Nest. 
Then the answers pile upon you, and your troubles just begin, 
Every one describes the ideal place to spend vacation in ; 
Each has golfing, rowing, bathing, resting, tennis, lots of fish, 
And each states its main ambition is to grant your every wish. 
The family argues pro and con, and then in desperation. 
You choose a place at random, and prepare for your vacation. 

II 

On the day you start it's cloudy, and before you reach the train. 
Inside out goes your umbrella, and your suit is soaked with rain ; 
Then you reach your destination, miss connections with the 'bus. 
And your wife disdains to speak to you, because, forsooth, you 

cuss. 
You hunt an hour around the village, hire a horse that costs you 

five. 
And at last you both are started on a rainy five-mile drive ; 
Tired and wet, forlorn and hungry, fit for almost any crime. 
After dark you reach the cottage just an hour past supper time. 
Some cold boiled ham is hurried out, you eat it with vexation. 
And go to bed dead homesick on the first day of vacation. 

Ill 

In the morning, after breakfast, you casually inquire, 
About tennis, golf and fishing, and if rowboats are for hire ; 

43 



WAR RHYMES 

But they tell you that the golf club is a mile or two away, 
Though the dues are just a dollar per to play there every day. 
For fish you should have come of course a month before about, 
But the tennis court is ready if you care to mark it out. 
You decide to stay the limit, make the best of what you've got, 
Because it's easier than moving, and find worse, as like as not. 
At last, hurrah ! you're home again, and with what wild elation, 
You greet familiar landmarks after your two week's vacation. 



THE SPIRIT OF CHRISTMAS CHEER 



I 



N the heart of man, since time began, 
Through the moving years I've stood, 
And my magic wand has forged the band 
Of unselfish brotherhood. 
Wher'er men meet, in field or street, 

Whether monarch, or prince, or clod. 
The thought of me, insensibly 
Brings them nearer unto God. 

But strange, indeed, that the growing greed 

Of the race for power and gain. 
Makes men forget, without regret, 

The call of want and pain. 
And that is why I linger by, 

For I know that their hearts ring true. 
And they realize, when they meet my eyes. 

The things they ought to do. 

For I am the mentor of helpful living, 
I am the spirit of Christmas giving. 

44 



AND PEACE POEMS 
THANKSGIVING 



THE year is growing gray again, as other years have 
grown, 
The winds of Winter blow again, as other winds 
have blown; 
The leaves fall all reluctant, from clinging branches where 
Soft Summer swelled their veins of green with magic beauty rare. 
But sweet as was the Springtime, and Summer sweeter still. 
The golden, mellow Autumn glow their promises fulfill ; 
The ripened year exultant, with open lavish hands. 
The Summer's full fruition holds, and calm, triumphant stands. 

II 
Ten hundred thousand years have fled, and each succeeding Fall 
Has turned the Summer green to red, and heard the north wind 

call; 
Ten hundred thousand Autumns have come and gone their way. 
And always brought their bounty when the year is growing gray. 
The grace of God unfailing through the circle of the years 
Has built a faith undying as the Autumn harvest nears ; 
And faith finds its expression in the grateful, humble way 
We celebrate the harvest home on each Thanksgiving day. 



45 



WAR RHYMES 

THE PESSIMIST 

YOU can tell him when you see him for he shambles 
down the street 
With hands in pockets, shoulders stooped, and eyes 
bent on his feet ; 
He's looking for the tumble that he knows he's going to take. 
And thinking of the trouble when his health begins to break. 
He glories in the worries that beset him every day, 
You ask about his business, and this is what he'll say: 
"Rotten is the only word that tells just how I feel, 
I've tramped the town half over, and I haven't closed a deal; 
They're tinkering the tariff and the new administration 
Is on the road to ruin, and that's just the situation. 
The money kings are squeezing out our lifeblood every minute. 
Don't talk prosperity to me, I know there's nothing in it. 
We work our fingers to the bone, and only half exist. 
The times are wrong, dead wrong, I say." Thus rants the 
pessimist. 



46 




AND PEACE POEMS 

THE OPTIMIST 

*0U hear a cheery whistle, and you know the man behind, 
Is glad he's living, glad he's well, and not deaf, dumb or 

blind ; 
His clasp of greeting thrills you through, and when he 
goes his way, 
He leaves a trail of cheerfulness that warms you all the day. 
He's plain and unpretentious, but human to the bone. 
And talks about his business in about this sort of tone: 
"Things are rather quiet, and the orders mighty few. 
But I know they'll soon get better, because they always do; 
Kicking and complaining isn't healthful or improving. 
The only antidote I know is just to keep on moving. 
The joy I get from hustling meets the needs of my ambition, 
And work will land the orders when your stomach's in con- 
dition. 
Here, have a smoke, I've got to make six calls by five o'clock." 
And with a wave, the Optimist goes sailing down the block. 



47 



WAR RHYMES 

THE SAME OLD STORY 

I'M almost a model husband, 
I never cuss or fight ; 
I'm called a good provider, 
And I'm always home at night. 
My wife says I'd be perfect, 
(It is her standard joke) 
She'd love me then as much again, 
If I only didn't smoke. 

I go to church each Sunday, 

And sing up in the choir; 

And in a modest, humble way. 

To higher things aspire. 

My wife admits my goodness, 

(She says it to provoke) 

And thinks I'd go to heaven sure. 

If I only didn't smoke. 

The things she wants are legion, 

She tells them o'er and o'er ; 

Each night she mentions something else. 

She never did before. 

Of course we'll never have them, 

(And sobs of anguish choke) 

Although we could aflford it, 

If I only didn't smoke. 

We husbands have our failings. 
And vices to correct; 
And if it isn't one thing, 
It's another I expect. 
So with that to console me, 
I'll smile and bear the yoke; 
And let my troubles drift away. 
In fragrant clouds of smoke. 

48 



s 



AND PEACE POEMS 
AUNT LUCRETIA 



HE WAS tall and spare 

And her thin grey hair 

Was combed to neat perfection ; 

Her smile was as bright 
As her heart was light, 
And a foe to all dejection. 
Her laugh rang true 
As she greeted you, 
She was glad you came 

you always knew — 
My dear old Aunt Lucretia. 

II 

In her starched white dress 
You would never guess 
That her hands were gnarled 

with labor ; 
You would never know 
Of the care and woe 
She eased for friend or neighbor ; 
For her eye was clear, 
And her smile bred cheer, 
And the people loved her 

far and near — 
My dear old Aunt Lucretia. 

Ill 

Near a shading wood 

The white house stood, 

And the roses bloomed around it ; 

And calm and rest 

In this shaded nest 

49 



WAR RHYMES 



Seemed forever to surround it; 
When you felt the wear 
Of the world's fan fare, 
And longed for peace you 

would find it there — 
With dear old Aunt Lucretia. 

rv 

But the other day 

I passed that way 

And my heart was sore and weary ; 

The white house stood 

By the shading wood, 

But it now looks old and dreary. 

With a rising pain 

I longed in vain 

For the touch of the gentle 

hand again — 
Of dear old Aunt Lucretia. 



50 



AND PEACE POEMS 
WHEN DAY IS DONE 

I GUESS it's sort of natural when a man is past his prime, 
And edging toward the borderland, to take more stock of Time. 
Its market value kind of creeps up point by point each year. 
For human nature prizes most the things that disappear. 
And when we have aplenty, we loll in our easy chair. 
And take for granted blessings will come lookin' for us there. 

A lesson we all have to learn — it took me sixty year — 

Is that the things we've done ourselves, that cost us pretty dear 

In time, and hard, soul-grindin' work, enrich us more by far. 

Than things that come too easy like, no matter what they are. 

Why, every sod on this old farm is irrigated through 

With the sweat of years of labor, and plenty of it too. 

I prize it as I prize the years that fence it all around, 
Enclosing memories that grow on every foot of ground. 
The apples in the orchard, they're the finest anywhere. 
But every tree means more to me because I put it there. 
And Time — the years are precious, and I value every one, 
Not as a gift, but a reward, by hard-earned labor won. 



51 



WAR RHYMES 

A NEW YEAR'S PRAYER 



T 



HIS year, oh Lord, help me to see 

The road a little farther than before; 
Help me to be 
Forewarned of dangers that beset me sore ; 
Help me to set aright 

Mistakes, perhaps, through lack of judgment made; 
May failure never blight 

Ambition's sturdy passion, unafraid. 

Help me to read the mirror of the past. 

Where other years stand mercilessly bare ; 
Where thoughts, and acts, and deeds make me aghast 

At what I see OF ME reflected there; 
And in that mirrored vision let me learn 

To shape myself anew this coming year, 
So at its closing I can proudly turn, 

And read this twelvemonth record without fear. 

Help me to love — 

Not childishly, but in a broader sense. 
To sift and weigh man's faults, and see above 

The human yearning for just recompense. 
Help me to work — 

Not ploddingly, nor aimlessly, but bent 
(With single purpose, nor hard duties shirk), 

On reaching that great goal, accomplishment. 
Help me to fight — 

Not needlessly, but when my rights demand, 
Regardless of the odds, give me the might 

To (win or lose) ever unconquered stand. 



52 



T 



AND PEACE POEMS 
PIGEONHOLED 

HE author, being human, soon or late, 

Must to his work the final "finis" write. 

When settlement is made of his estate, 

A quest for assets often brings to light 
A poem, or perchance a lengthy tale, 
Dog-eared, obscurely pigeonholed away; 
And joyfully the masterpiece we hail. 
And herald it abroad without delay. 

The editor is pleased beyond compare. 
And on the cover of his magazine, 
Emblazons to the eager reader's stare. 
The title of a story yet unseen ; 
A manuscript discovered, far the best 
The late lamented author ever penned. 
And thus we find in this, his last bequest 
Dame fortune smiles upon him as a friend. 

Some lauded story that we linger o'er, 
Perhaps, like Opportunity of old. 
Has knocked at many an editorial door. 
Which finding locked, returned again unsold. 
When we are gone, and others search for aught, 
There is a pigeonhole we have in mind, 
Packed full of poems, stories, gems of thought, — 
Oh, may dame fortune be to us as kind. 



53 



THE RALPH FLETCHER SEYMOUR COMPANY 
FINE ARTS BUILDING, CHICAGO 



